


la douleur exquise

by whimsicalwords



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Confessions, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Object Penetration, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwords/pseuds/whimsicalwords
Summary: Graves can’t have Credence. So he takes other boys in his place, with white skin and short black hair. One day, Credence finds out.





	la douleur exquise

**Author's Note:**

> La douleur exquise: the heart-wrenching pain one feels when they love someone they cannot have.

1.

 

It all starts with a low noise, wet and slick, as soft as sugar melting in a winter’s morning. There are hands hooked at the meat of hips, lips pressing out small, open gasps, a muzzle of dark hair against pale skin – short and uneven.

A boy, Credence realizes, about his age. Tall and gaunt, all sharp lines and broken moans.

His lithe frame is hidden from prying looks, behind a steady, weight of muscles. Stranded open and bare in the cold air, by a thumb that works itself upward with intend.

Credence thinks about Mr. Graves, his kind smile and his big, broad hands when they clasp him tight. He wonders how would it be like to feel them all over his body, and the thought, along with the noise of skin slapping against skin, is enough to make him hard. 

The light of the lamp post is dim in the dark, but close enough to brighten the spot. For a moment, the man turns his face, and Credence’s eyes open wide to the sight of Mr. Graves crouched between a pair of legs, pouncing at the boy’s cock like a priest in prayer.     

Today, Credence was expected to meet him, in an empty alley, near the back of the church. But he had a fitful of sheets cramped in his right hand, and he still remembered the last time he has come home with half a stack of pamphlets on his grip. So he spent the afternoon unfolding papers and delivering them to the people who walked by, until the streets had become dessert and the salesman leaved their jobs to saunter back home.

The priest uses to say there are only thieves and loose woman walking on the streets, by night. Maybe he is right.         

Something dark and ugly twists painfully inside his chest and threats to break free. He wants Mr. Graves to hold him close, to feel the man’s breath on his cheeks, his hand on his neck, to be loved. There was a moment he thought Mr. Graves understood him, when his touch lingered for a little bit longer on the jut of his hipbone. But then he eased his grip and took his hand away, as if it burned, and Credence felt numb again. Just like now.        

In the silence of the night, a gravelly, low voice clangs like a lover’s touch. “ _Credence. Oh, Credence…_ ”       

At that moment, Credence can swear all the air has been pushed out of his lungs, compressed to form a thin knock around his guts.

When he comes back home, the rain has already stopped, but his mother hits him either way, for drenching his clothes. He doesn’t mind, any distraction is better than what he is feeling. But nothing can erase Mr. Graves’s voice out of his mind.

That night he doesn’t sleep.

 

2.

 

Mr. Graves brings him to an establishment, at the corner of the avenue street, in a quiet place by the seashore where Credence can smell the faint tangy scene of fish and salt and grilled cheese. The waitress asks for their order and Credence blushes when Mr. Graves answers for both of them. He likes it, to feel as if he belongs to him.

Mr. Graves drums his fingers on the table’s flat surface. “You missed our last appointment,” he says, swiftly.

“I’m sorry. I had to pick the fliers from the printer a-and it was already getting late.”      

“I was in a fret,” Mr. Graves confesses. “I thought something had happened to you.”

 Credence looks up at him.

“Is your mother making your work too much?”

“N-no, I’m used to it by now.” His Ma allowed him to make a pause in the middle of the day.

For a minute they ate in silence. Credence fiddles with the food, while Mr. Graves sips from his coffee in small gulps. He loves to spend time with him, and the steak tastes good, too, but Credence can’t appreciate it when the room reeks with memories of _that_ night.

“You talked with Miss Goldstein about some strange dreams you were having,” Mr. Graves says after the waitress arrives, cutting a loaf in halve and slathering it with butter. “Do you want to tell me more about them?”

Credence cuts the meat. If he is honest with himself, he hasn’t thought much about it since the first time his dreams took a different turn, some weeks after they meet, leaving him smoldered in sweetly sheets, with seed spilt on his thighs. The memory is still fresh on his mind. 

 “It’s not that. I just couldn’t sleep,” Credence lies, studying the tablecloth, to avoid locking at him in the eyes. 

Mr. Graves sets his cup on the saucer, carefully not to spill. Credence can hardly eat the roasted chicken, for the trembling in his hand. But Mr. Graves doesn’t pay it too much attention because Credence is always cold, except when they are too close, like now.  

“Ma says I got the devil in me, like my true parents,” he says, unable to keep the words inside his mouth. “I-I covet things that I shouldn’t.”

“You where never allowed to have anything of the shorts,” Mr. Graves says, trailing a finger down Credence’s arm before squeezing it reassuringly.

“It’s not like this. I-I think about other man in a way I shouldn’t,” Credence stammers.

Sometimes he whispered Mr. Graves’s name to the pillow too, just to hear the sound of it. But he doesn’t say that.

Mr. Graves’s eyes seem to lighten up and he sets his fork down. “There is nothing wrong with you, my boy. If it’s not natural do you think god would make you feel this way?” 

“But Ma… she will…”

Mr. Graves rises from the chair and walks to his side, with the coat whipping behind him. He cups his hand on Credence’s face and presses a soft kiss to the skin of his bare neck. His voice seems kind, even thought Credence hasn’t much to compare. “Come with me. I won’t let her hurt you again. I promise.”

Credence shallows down. His throat is thick and dry. “I can’t. I’m not special. Not like you. I-I-I’m only putting you in danger. Y-you said it yourself: if people find out we were associating…”

“Shhh…” Mr. Graves stoops on his knees. His fingers slip an inch down, to his mouth, in a sign of silence, and he wipes a trace of gravy from Credence’s lips, thumb tucking at the corner. “I don’t want to hear you said that of yourself. Not again. You are precious to me and that’s enough. ”    

Whiteout thinking, Credence’s tongue darts out of his mouth and he slurps his finger dry. He is not hungry. Not for food.   

 

3.

 

The next time they meet, Mr. Graves tell him, in a whisper above, they have to stop meeting for a few weeks, and Credence’s heart twinges before sinking.

“You need time to rest. It’s getting cold. And I will not work you hard because of my carelessness.” Mr. Graves says, and folds his arms around Credence’s elbow, guiding him to an empty allay, just off the street.

He takes his hand from his shoulders, and Credence’s chest feels heavy with the loss of weight. Sometimes he thinks it will crumble down without Mr. Graves holding it in its place.

“I-I don’t think I want to.”

 “What are you doing, Credence?”

In a sudden moment of braveness, he drops on his knees, nudging his face over Mr. Graves’s clad groin, lips half open, trailing down to suck the outline of his cock, with small, wet strokes across the base, droll leaking down his chin.   

A hand cards between his hair and pushes him forward, onto Mr. Graves’s cock. His tongue laps across the length and tastes the first drops of come soaking the rough fabric before he begins rutting his own groin on Mr. Graves’s legs like some short of animal in heat.      

“No…” Mr. Graves moans, but his grip tightens as he trusts against Credence’s mouth, fucking him until his lips are red and swollen, although there is no other place he would rather be than here.     

Credence has dreamt of this, night after night, rutted his own body against the squab pretending it was him. He loves to hear Mr. Graves’s gasps, to see him slowly losing control, to know he was the one who made him feel this way. 

He is not so talented like a lewd woman. He doesn’t know where to put his hands or what to do with his mouth, but he must be doing something right, because he can see the stiff lines of Mr. Graves’s cock, even behind layers of brunt clothe.

Titling his head up, Credence observes him under a mantle of long eyelashes: head thrown out, hair in a clutter of strands, the traces on his face made soft and yielding under Credence’s touch.  It’s easy to lose yourself on Mr. Graves’s eyes. He tastes the traces of pre come on the fabric, imagining how it would be like if there was only skin against skin.

Still, it’s not enough. Trembling, he dips under the hem of his pants and tugs them down, by his knees. The palm of his hand finally wraps around Mr. Graves’s cock, pulling it free, in a flurry of movements. 

His hands are trembling and clumsy, Credence realizes, both with cold and anticipation. He makes a fist around the length and lets his fingers brush Mr. Graves’s balls. There is a low, guttural cry, more wild than human, and he does it again, this time harder.

Mr. Grave’s cock is heavy on his hand, red and slicked hot, already bigger than his own length, despite being only half-hard.    

“Credence… You have a perfect mouth…”Mr. Graves purrs and his eyes are dark underneath hooded eyelashes. Gasping, he runs his hand appreciably over Credence’s lower lip to emphasize his words, prying them open to his touch.      

Credence lowers his mouth to the man’s stiff cock and slowly takes him in, teeth sharp across the flesh, fondling along the slit. He massages it with his lips, and then pushes his mouth forward to the middle, nibbling at the skin and savoring the taste of Mr. Graves’s pleasure before easing back.            

It’s his first time and he wants it to be special, to make Mr. Graves proud. Moaning around his cock, Credence splays his legs wide and leans forward, shame giving place to something new.

He plants kitten kisses on the crest of curled hairs, eagerly worshiping very inch of him, flapping and twirling his tongue until the skin is twisting hard.  

“Fuck. Don’t stop.” Mr. Graves bites out and his hips thrust a few more times before he comes, body taut, spilling inside his mouth. White trickles down Credence’s face, smears his hands tacky and drenches the black sleeves of his shirt with his seed.

“I-I saw you last week, when I was coming back home.” He licks his lips and settles to his feet. It tastes tangy and salty, a little like the sea.  “I wanted to make you feel good too.”   

“Credence, you didn’t have to do this,” Mr. Graves says. Still, he folds his fingers around Credence’s bare-threat clothes and fastens him in his arms, tucking his head under his, close enough for Credence to hear his heart beating fast.

“I like it.” He blushes. “Please, sir. I want to be yours,”

For a terrible moment, Credence is afraid that Mr. Graves doesn’t want him; that the name he heard was not his own, that his mother would find out and accuse him in the public square, lumped with criminals and witches alike. He doesn’t say any of those things thought. 

Instead, he asks, “Is this because I’m not good enough? Like that man?”

“No, you were lovely. I never wanted somebody so much like you. I still do.”

“Then why?” Credence asks.

“You are so fragile and you have been through so much. I don’t want to hurt you,” Mr. Graves says, kissing him softly on the lips. They taste sweet, Credence thinks, like sugar or freshly mown grass.

“I don’t mind if it hurts, as long as it’s you.”

 

4.

 

Chapped lips press along the skin of his thigh as a low, deep voice instructs him to go on all fours.

His legs, pressed close to hide his cock, are spread out, fastened by the grip of a hand. The feeling of it sends a flood of blood down to Credence’s groin.

“I can’t wait much longer,” Mr. Graves warns him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Credence hears the clack of his belt falling on the floor. He looks over his shoulders, to Mr. Graves’s fingers, while they fumble with the clasp of his trousers, before opening it and pulling out his cock. It’s big and darker at the tip, despite being still flat. His throat goes dry and it’s hard to breath.

Mr. Graves runs his hands downwards, towards Credence’s ass, trailing a finger along the spine. They are strong yet soft, and the feeling of them sends more blood running to his cock. Warmth curls through Credence’s belly at the touch. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm, so much that his hand clenches in a fist.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, behind him.

Finally, he finds his voice. “I know. It’s just that you are so big… Is it going to fit in?” His head feels light and fuzzy, and for a moment he thinks he is going to faint.

To be honest, he can’t get enough of him. He craves his praises, the way his touch sets his skin on fire, to be looked at with lust, as if he is something tempting, something wholly beautiful.           

“Breath out.” Mr. Graves chuckles. “I promise you are going to enjoy it.”

Something wet and slippery trails around his rim, tapes inside, and Credence mouth opens in a gasp before he realizes what it was: Mr. Graves has inserted his tongue _down there_. On a place Credence has never touched, never dared to.

“It feels so good,” he stops to talk when he feels Mr. Graves’s mouth sucking and nibbling the cleft of his ass.

“Fuck, you are so tight. You know what I’m doing?”

“N-no.”

“I’m preparing you for my cock,” Mr. Graves bites out. A finger presses between his cheeks, before the skin parts for the rest of it to probe inside. Credence’s teeth grind and he curls his toes into the soft sheets. Every inch of his muscles is tense with the assault, only his knees remain weak and wobbly, unable to support his weight.             

Then Mr. Graves introduces a second and a third finger, until Credence is thrusting backwards by instinct and moving his hips in small circles around the touch. Where Mr. Graves’s fingers press, his skin is set ablaze. Credence feels as if he is going to suffocate as his skin struggle against the intrusion.

Mr. Graves thinks he is still thigh, even after a fourth finger. So he uses his wand inside him, whispers a spell that coats him leaking wet and sticky, and plumps it all the way to the base. He strokes a place inside him that makes Credence whimpers and his jaw fall lax. “Please… I need...” But Mr. Graves keeps teasing him, brushing it softly a few times, before pulling away. 

 “I know, my boy.” He humps over Credence’s back and rubs his cock against his cleft, teasingly, while a hand perches his shoulder. With the other one, Mr. Graves strokes his nipples. “But first, you need to relax.”

Credence nods, unable to find his words.

“Good boy.”

The wood is long and light, but harsher than his fingers. It borders slightly on pain, and Credence has to muffle his face against the pillow to hide a yawl. He is afraid that Mr. Graves will stop if he hears him.

“Breath out,” Mr. Graves instructs. “This is not so different from touching yourself.”

“But I-I have never done it. I wanted you to be the first.”

He takes the wand out. “Good.”

Slowly, so very slowly, something nudges against his cleft, past the first ring, easing inside him, until his balls are brushing against Credence’s. Ignoring the way his body goes limp, Mr. Graves stops, trembling with the effort to keep himself still. “Tell me I’m your first one.”  

“Y-yes,” Credence sobs. Mr. Graves is wet, down there, and, obviously, this isn’t his first time, there were tons of man before him, but he doesn’t care. God, the hooker he saw at the alley, nothing matters, only Mr. Graves’s warmth, his breath on his ears, the fingers that smooth his stomach flat. “Oh, it feels so good.”        

In the moment he begins to move, Credence is already reduced to low, broken gasps, letting Mr. Graves guide the steady thrusts. His hole twists around him, skin stuttering under skin, threatening to slump.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself Do you understand that?” He shoves into him with a smack that makes Credence’s skin crawl. “Can you do this, for me?”

“Anything you want. I’m yours.” His cock bounces and he sinks backwards with the impact.

There is a strange pressure building inside his guts. Credence doesn’t think he can bear it much longer, with Mr. Graves whispering sweet nothing at his ears. He is stretched to the seams, sweet clinging to his skin, air whiffing of with pleasure.    

“Credence….” ”Mr. Graves spills inside, keeps thrusting until Credence comes, smearing the sheets underneath him. The air is difficult to breath, and Credence feels him members growing groggy, unable to support his full weight. He lets his body fall to the bed.

Mr. Graves rolls from top of him and removes his cock with a grunt. He uses a silence spell to clean their bodies, and then he drapes Credence in his arms, crowning him with kisses on the curve of his neck. “Hmm, you taste so good.”

Credence feels his lips grow dry like paper. “Mr. Graves, I can’t bear to see you with other man. It’s too much.” He closes his eyes and holds him tighter. “I know I’m being selfish, but I want to be the only one.”    

“Sweetheart, I thought that man because they have a passable resemblance to you. Now that I have you I don’t need them anymore.”

 “It’s my fault. There were times that I thought about telling you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. If I have never seen you that night…” he mumbles, nudging against his chest.

“Hush, you did it. And you were perfect. It’s better not to think about this now. Let’s enjoy our time together” M. Graves tugs the cover over them and leans back against the headboard. “You deserve to be crowned in diamonds and flowers. You know that, don’t you?” 

When Credence opens his eyes, there is a rose in front of him. It’s white and still in bud, and it makes Credence think about his loss of virginity. _I’m not like I was before, but I don’t mind._ He snuggles his arms around Mr. Graves.

“Is it for me? Thank you.” He picks it, and as their fingers brush, something strange and utterly fantastic happens: the flower blooms and changes to red, the color picking wisps of fire in its petals when speckles of light fall on it.

Credence can’t talk; his voice is stuck to his mouth, sewed to his tongue. “Was it me?” It’s buzzing where the steam meets his skin.  

“Yes.” He hears Mr. Grave laugh with joy. “You know what this mean? Credence, you are a wizard.”


End file.
